Avatar: The Modern Age
by giltwist
Summary: A reimagining of the Avatar universe set in modern West Virginia, moving from the fantasy genre into magical realism. The events from the cartoon series is, in this story, ancient history so old as to be mostly forgotten. In the modern age, benders suffer the discrimination that is typically reserved for homosexuality or illegal immigrants. Can the Avatar cope with the hatred?
1. Chapter 1 - A day in the life

"Fire. Air. Water. Earth. For as long as anyone can remember, stories have been told of the four nations that lived together in harmony, joined as spokes on a wheel with the great Republic at the center. Such legends were old when Rome was built, inspiring its famed Senate. Throughout the ages, only the Avatar, master of all four elements, could bring balance to the world."

"Is this going to be on the test, Mr. Verelli?" interjected an impatient freshman. Focus was drawn from the slide projected on the screen at the front of the room, and all eyes drifted between the student who spoke to the thirty-something man who was teaching World History I at this small, blue-collar high school in West Virginia.

"Yes," the interrupted social studies teacher said with a sigh of frustration. "Everything is on the test. You've taken a standardized test every year since you were in third grade. It's on there, otherwise I wouldn't have time to talk about it." Mr. Verelli clicked, somewhat nonplussed, to the next slide — a timeline entitled Avatars through the Ages. "Certainly, quite a few people have claimed to be the Avatar, even going to elaborate lengths to perpetuate the hoax, as in the case of Richard the Lionheart. The sad truth is that humanity stopped keeping careful track of the Avatar long before we started writing history down. In fact, some scientists argue that there is compelling evidence to indicate that there is not only one or always one Avatar. In other words, they think that it is just a extremely rare hereditary occurrence."

At the back of the classroom, an ordinary looking girl had been trying to ignore the increasing number of stares, glares and jeers as the lecture progressed. Her appearance was so average that it was either a mathematical oddity or meticulously cultivated - brown hair cut in a trendy style, brown eyes, department store clothes, even a picture of the latest boy band featured prominently on her binder. Yet, it would also be painfully apparent to even the most casual observer that she was a pariah among her peers at that moment. A full half the class was taking each of Mr. Verelli's uses of the word "bender" as a treacherous insult spoken by the ordinary looking girl. By the half-way point of the period, she just put her head down and hid in a fortress made of her folded arms. Mr. Verelli noticed the girl's discomfort, but had little choice but to continue covering the material.

"Historians frequently debate who was or was not the, or rather 'an,' Avatar. Of particular interest to the reincarnation debate are recent texts that indicate that the 5th Dalai Lama, Lobzang Gyatso, was capable of bending all four elements, but no other Dalai Lama has shown any bending proficiency whatsoever save for the current Dalai Lama, His Holiness Tenzin Gyatso, who is a talented airbender. " The man pondered what he just said, as if only really hearing it for the first time. "Certainly, both stories of reincarnation cannot be true."

The teacher clicked forward through a variety of paintings, tapestries and old black and white photographs to illustrate a variety of points as he speaks. "However, despite the spotlight on Avatars, they were not the only benders to have monumental impact on the course of history. While some of you may have heard the name of the impregnable earthbender citadel of Ba Sing Se, I would bet you have no idea how the earthbenders who built Ba Sing Se continue to impact politics to this day." Mr. Verelli paused, clearly expecting someone to ask a question.

Silence fell over the room, deafening — the only sound a student surreptitiously texting under her desk.

Slightly crestfallen, Mr. Verelli demanded, "Put the phone away." After putting his game face back on, Mr. Verelli continued, "How could possibly still matter, you ask? Archeologists generally agree that Ba Sing Se was in the area now known as Afghanistan..."

"My dad's over there," piped one kid, thankful to have a moment's relevance in an otherwise onerous lesson.

"A lot of people's dads are over there," agreed Mr. Verelli. "and it isn't just in the last few years. Time and time again, every major military power has tried to capture Afghanistan and failed miserably. It has become known as the 'graveyard of empires,' and this pattern can be traced back basically as long as such things were written down. It's a good bet that such sieges have been going on since the Fire Nation first attempted the feat so long ago in the mists of time. If you've got family in Afghanistan, you can blame Fire Lord Sozin. Other examples incl..."

A synthetic tone sounded through the speaker mounted over the door. It was one of those sounds that was supposedly more soothing than a traditional bell but ended up just being harder to hear most of the time.

"...we'll pick up here tomorrow."

Students quickly zipped up their bags and rushed out to their next classes - all except for the girl with her head down. Only after everyone left did she pack up her things.

"Are you alright, Marie?" asked a genuinely concerned Mr. Verelli.

"Can I just go to the library until this unit is over?" Marie implored.

"You of all people need to..."

"I don't care. I don't want to know. Please? I'll get an excuse from my mom if I have to."

The teacher frowned for a moment before promising, "I'll call her tonight and talk about it."

"Thank you!" exclaimed the girl with clear relief.

Mr. Verelli shook his head sadly as he watched Marie leave the classroom.

* * *

In the hallway outside Mr. Verelli's classroom, Marie was greeted by a smiling boy with a punk rock aesthetic; his clothes featured black, as in his leather jacket, and primary blue, as in his flannel shirt and Chuck Taylor shoes. His anti-establishment ensemble was complemented nicely by a bold blue mohawk. "Are you ready for our biology test this afternoon?" he asked amicably as he matched her pace to engage in conversation. It only took a moment before he noticed Marie's malaise. "Hey, what's the matter?"

"It's that time of year again," she explained, as if that were all that needed to be said. Her gaze remained fixedly on the aging floors as she walked, filling her with a deep sympathy for the once-straight seams between the floor tiles. She, too, knew how it felt to not be quite as perfect as she used to be.

The boy frowned and furrowed his brows, trying to figure out what that cryptic statement had meant. A glance backward answered everything, as he realized that Marie had just emerged from a social studies classroom. "It's not going to be that bad. It's only going to last a month or two." Upon reflection, the boy appended, "Back in fourth grade, we only spent a week on it!" This tactic proved to be ineffectual as Marie neither responded nor even looked at him. "At least you only have to deal with it once a year. On top of the yearly unit on benders in history, every day in Spanish class has been a nightmare for me." He gestured towards his just-a-little-too-brown-to-be-Caucasian skin. "To make matters worse, Señora made us all pick Spanish names. I've been trying to get people to stop calling me Pedro for years, and now they HAVE to call me that."

This finally got Marie's attention. She stopped and turned to the boy, looking up from the yellowed floor tiles at last. "Oh, Pyotr...I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it," Pyotr assured Marie with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I'm just trying to remind you that you've got to learn to roll with the punches like water off of a ducks back."

Marie frowned a bit, clearly skeptical.

In response to the renewed frowning, Pyotr demonstrated with exaggerated lugubrious motions of arms and wavering quality of voice. "Liiiiiiike waaaateeeerr. Waaaaater!" This improvised dance finally brought a smile to Marie's face. "There you are! All better. This is why water is the element of healing."

"Thanks, rock star," Marie giggled, using her pet nickname for Pyotr. "I'll see you at lunch."

Pyotr patted Marie comfortingly on the shoulder before waving and heading off to his third period class. Marie waved goodbye before doing the same, taking a left turn at the intersection where Pyotr had gone straight through.

* * *

Pyotr almost didn't make it in make it in time for Shop, and that would have meant sweeping the floor all period. As usual, Mat was waiting outside the door, not wanting to be even a single second early to any class, even if it was her favorite. Her Germanic descent was apparent in every detail, from the broad shoulders to the pure blonde hair in a short-backed cut which complimented her cunning blue eyes.

While a lot of the kids in school had some bending proficiency, only a handful in the entire district ever practiced the skill enough to do anything more difficult than blowing out a candle. Mat was different, she was an absolutely first rate metalbender. Being in shop class gave her an excuse to practice every day. Though the shop teacher, Mr. Edgar, was not crazy about the prospect, Mat was known to drive in every single nail, staple, or screw with her bending. During the first grading period, Mr. Edgar had tried several times to break Mat of this habit, considering it to be unsafe and, like most Americans, a little unsavory. However, nothing was going to get between Mat and her bending. Moreover, the Bending Non-Discrimination Act, passed by Congress only a few years prior despite State support for close to three decades, prevented Mr. Edgar from outright forbidding it.

Though she had only moved into the district this year, Mat and Pyotr had quickly been lumped together as "those benders" by most of the school. While Mat happened to be a metalbender, Pyotr was a firebender, by virtue of the whatever deadbeat had fathered him during a one-night stand – never to be seen again. Pyotr's mother, Nadia, was Russian and fiercely proud of her identity as a first-generation immigrant. It was Nadia's background growing up in a Siberian village replete with waterbenders that led to Pyotr's fascination with the philosophy and trappings of waterbending despite being a firebender.

The speakers chimed the start of the period just as Pyotr walked through the door, and Mat nonchalantly sauntered in behind him with little more than a millisecond before the chime ended. Today had been scheduled as a work day, so the two benders proceeded directly from the door to their shared station. As freshmen, they had only eligible for wood shop, but both looked forward to being able to take metal shop as upperclassmen.

"I heard that the seniors are going to learn how to weld this week," began Pyotr as he got out all his tools.

"Woop de doo," remarked Mat as she got their half-finished bird house off the shelf. "The metalbenders who work at BMW can just splice two pieces of metal together stronger than any welding."

Pyotr gave Mat a wry smile before confessing, "Last night, I tried to see how hot I could make my fire on two nails. They got red and sort of stuck together, but they fell apart as soon as they cooled down. Welding torches must be ridiculously hot." After consulting the directions, Pyotr began measuring out the remain boards to be cut.

"Hey, why don't you freaks stop talking about that bending stuff? Nobody wants to hear about it." complained a jock at the next table.

To which, Mat rebutted, "Why don't you stop talking about that basketball stuff?" She took a moment to pantomime trying to remember something. "I mean, it's not as if you've won a championship in the last ten years. Nobody wants to hear about what losers you all are." Pyotr politically restrains a laugh, still having aspirations for the football team.

"That's enough of that," declared Mr. Edgar from the front of the room, "none of you is done, so none of you has time to be mouthing off." The teacher's hearing was fairly poor from years of working with power tools, but he always seemed to pounce on the slightest mention of bending. Moreover, his assertion just wasn't true. Mat and Pyotr would be done half way through the period. While most teams lost time with bent nails and hammered thumbs, Mat's bending made a straightforward task like assembling a bird house a breeze. However, the warning was sufficient to diffuse the gathering tension in the air.

Pyotr and Mat worked quietly for several minutes before becoming fed up with the silence. "My band's got a gig on Saturday. It's a battle of the bands up in Pittsburgh."

"How are you going to get there?" Mat pondered. "You aren't even old enough to drive."

"Jake, the drummer, is a junior. He's going to drive us up using a van from his dad's grocery store."

"Wow, Pete, you are like totally hardcore and junk," Mat teases with a fake valley girl voice. "Like, I bet the other punk rock bands will totally show up in an ice cream truck to try to show you up."

"Shut up," Pyotr laughs with a mockingly hurt tone. "Pass me the wood glue."

* * *

By lunch, most of the morning's angst had recessed to the far corners of Marie's mind. After social studies, she had language arts, which was great because she enjoyed language arts classes the best. It always made her feel better when she got to write something. One of the few pieces of good advice Marie's psychologist had given her was to keep a diary. Despite a self-conscious opinion of her own writing skills, Marie had an ongoing fantasy of writing a book that would someday get a Hollywood adaptation. Pyotr and Mat joined her several minutes later, laden with cafeteria trays containing grilled cheese and tomato soup.

"So then I stapled the sleeve of his shirt to the nearest telephone pole," bragged Mat to Pyotr as they sat down at the table. Mat was so far out of the bending closet that the most bigoted students were often picking fights with her. She'd gotten pretty badly hurt once, but that only made her more willing to prove that bullying benders was a bad idea. On the bright side, it kept people from openly tormenting benders with weaker personalities.

Just recently, Mat had been suspended for ten days and nearly expelled after saving a scrawny Japanese-American boy who was getting a hard time for his waterbending. During the biology unit on plants, the boy had tried to help the teacher demonstrate capillary action by bending the water within the bean plants that the class was growing. Mat had stumbled upon the poor waterbender being beaten up by three seniors after school that very day. It took firefighters with the jaws of life to get the three bullies out of the lockers by the time Mat was done with them. The parents of the bullies, of course, claimed that Mat had initiated the whole thing and wanted to press charges. Only the fact that the entire incident was caught on security tapes saved Mat. Having gotten to know Mat, Marie felt that Mat had demonstrated profound level-headedness by merely restraining the bullies. In fact, that was one of the things Marie liked best about Mat. Mat had never caused more than a few bruises to any of her assailants.

As the two friends sat down with Marie, Pyotr attempted to pick up conversation where he had failed earlier in the morning. "Are you ready for the biology test next period, Marie?" he queried.

"It wasn't that bad," Mat assured through a slurp of soup. "I just came from biology. The only hard part was labeling the diagram."

"Oh, man, I hate diagrams," Pyotr whined. "I always come up one short on the terms."

"Pete, are you honestly telling me you phonetically memorized that entire German metal song that you like so much, but you can't remember a dozen vocabulary terms?" Mat criticized.

With a shrug, Pyotr explained, "Biology tests don't have a beat."

"C'mon, rock star," Marie interjected, "just put all the terms into the lyrics of a song, then."

Pyotr tilted his head to the side, pondering Marie's advice. After a few moments, he became stymied and asked, "What rhymes with endoplasmic reticulum?" Both girls laughed at that.

"Biology curriculum?" offered Mat.

"Oh! That's good!" Pyotr decreed. He quickly unzipped his backpack for a pencil and the notebook he kept just for such moments of inspiration. As he scribed the newly fashioned lyrics, he mumbled them aloud to feel how they rolled across his tongue. "If...I want to... pass this...biology curriculum..." He looked up for a moment, "Thanks, Mat." Returning to his task, he continues, "I need...to be able to...find the...endoplasmic reticulum."

"That's great, Pete, but you probably should have started on this about a week ago."

"She's right, Pyotr. You've barely got enough time to finish your lunch before class starts."

"Can't eat. Creating." Pyotr pushed his lunch tray to the center of the table to make more room for his notebook.

Mat took that as an offer and quickly commandeered his untouched sandwich. Marie was going to object, but Mat preempted, "It's my cut of the profits for the song."

Across the cafeteria, someone had stood up on a chair and was trying to quiet the room. It was one of the cheerleaders, so it didn't take long for her popularity to win the attention of most of the students. "Don't forget that Friday is our big basketball game! If our boys win it, they'll be going off to regionals!" A cheer resounded at that suggestion. "And, there will be a qualifying judge for our cheerleading squad. We've really got a great shot to go all the way..."

Some crass boy shouted, "I thought you were gonna save it for marriage?" before being manhandled back into silence by the rest of his table.

"Gross," the cheerleader opined with a look of distaste. She took a moment to remember the rest of her script before continuing, "All the way to the national championships! You all know how awesome Alyssa has been since she joined the squad her freshman year, and this year she is our head cheerleader! So come out to the game and support both team and squad! Go Sentinels!"

In a reasonable approximation of unison, most of the cafeteria echoed, "Go Sentinels!" before returning to their food.

Pyotr, still single-mindedly scribbling lyrics, had completely ignored the entire scene, but Mat and Marie had paid attention. With a derisive snort, Mat gossiped, "I heard that Alyssa's dad won't let benders join his church. He's not even the minister, just a deacon!"

Marie expressed her confusion, "How could he do that if he's not the minister?"

"Well, I guess Alyssa's mom is in charge of the welcoming committee or some such," Mat relayed, "and so she goes around to the houses of all the people who want to formally join the church. Once she's in their house, she can do all sorts of snooping to figure out if there are any benders in the family. If they're normal, Alyssa's dad rolls out the red carpet. If not, well...he makes people feel unwelcome enough that they decide not to join the church."

"How do you know that?" demanded Marie.

"Common knowledge," Mat deflected. In order to prevent any further interrogation, Mat showily slurped down Pyotr's bowl of tomato soup then commanded. "Pete, bell's about to ring. Take back your tray."

"Huh? Sure." Pyotr put away his notebook and generously took back both trays though having eaten from neither.

Marie got up to throw away the remains of her packed lunch and follows Pyotr to the garbage collection area. Once out of Mat's earshot, she inquires, "How come you let Mat treat you like that?"

"What? The food? I don't even like tomato soup."

"And the trays," Marie reminded Pyotr.

"I dunno..." Pyotr mumbled sheepishly.

"Pyotr..." Marie scolded gently.

"I...well, I'm proud to know someone like Mat," Pyotr admitted. "She's just so...totally at peace with who she is and won't let anyone so much as hint that there's something wrong with her. I wish I could be as honest about my bending as she is about hers." Mat swiped the disposables from the trays into the garbage cans and dumped the dirty dishes into the return chute.

"You use your firebending to do the pyrotechnics for you band," Marie countered.

"That's not at school, though."

With an exasperated huff, Marie argues, "Ok, well you talk about all that Water Tribe stuff all the time in school, though."

"Only to you and Mat." Pyotr turned to look across the cafeteria at Mat. "I wish I could be half as brave as she is."

Marie looked at Pyotr in a new light. She had always assumed that he was the same person all the time, but maybe she was wrong. Maybe she only got to see Pyotr as he wanted to be. Marie committed herself to investigating this possibility. She didn't normally like making waves; but, until Mat had come along, Pyotr had been the only one who had remained friends with Marie after her accident. Pyotr had earned the right to be happy, and Marie felt it was her duty as a friend to help make that happen.

A tone reverberated through the cafeteria, ending the first of the three lunch periods.

* * *

The rest of the day passed without incident, unless you were to count a biology test as an incident. As Marie disembarked from the bus, she could see her mother waiting by the front window and wearing a concerned expression on her face. Marie knew at once that Mr. Verelli had called, as promised, but that it had not gone as Marie had intended. Knowing that a capital-T Talk was awaiting her in the living room, Marie steeled herself against the bad news that was sure to come. The girl took a moment to look left and right along the row of nearly identical small houses and wondered how many other students were coming home to bad news. She walked anxiously across the lawn, sprinkled lightly with spring snow. It wouldn't be long until warmth returned with the birds and flowers. Remembering Pyotr's words from earlier in the morning, Marie reminded herself that, like winter, this too would pass. The front door, as Marie had suspected, unlocked. There was no avoiding the Talk if her mother, though the girl would certainly make the effort.

"I'm home!" Marie called in her best impression of a cheerful voice. "I've got a big biology test tomorrow, I'm going to head up to my room to study."

From the living room adjacent to the entryway, her mother called, "Wasn't your biology test today, Marie?" in a level voice that revealed nothing save for an intent to hide her feelings from her daughter.

Unable to lie directly, Marie mentally scrambled. "Oh...right! And I did fine on it, so I'm going to go up to my room and play a video game to reward myself!" Marie bolted for the stairs.

"Marie Christine..."

Oh no. Middle name. "Coming, mom." Taking her foot off the first step, Marie shrugged off her backpack and coat then dutifully marched into the living room. Obeying a gesture from her mother, Marie took a seat on the couch while her mother loomed over her.

"Mr. Verelli called today," her mother began. "He said you want to skip his class."

"That's not what I said," insisted Marie.

"School is important, you'll never get into a good college if you start skipping classes."

"He's doing a unit on benders," the girl explained.

Marie's mother sat down on the couch and put her arm around her daughter reassuringly. "I know, honey, but you can't keep avoiding it forever."

"Why not? Lots of people do a really great job of pretending benders don't exist."

Knitting her brows sympathetically, Marie's mother explained, "Not everywhere is like here. Someday you'll leave this small town far behind and live a full life where you can accomplish whatever you put your mind to."

"Will I be able to fit in?" Marie asked, already knowing the answer.

Changing the subject slightly, Marie's mother mentioned, "Mr. Verelli offered to stay after school to tutor you. He said he wasn't really comfortable with 'separate but equal' but felt that your case merited an exception. I'm not really sure what he meant by that, but he clearly wants to help you."

Horrified, Marie clarified, "I have to get EVEN MORE bender history now?"

"No," her mother assured, "He'll let you go to the library to research bender history during his class and he'll discuss it with you after school. And he's willing to extend the offer to your friends Peter and Mathilda."

Marie thought hard about this. On one hand, she wouldn't have to face all the other students during the lessons on bender history. On the other hand, she'd probably end up learning a lot more about benders than if she just suffered through the class. "Deal. Although, I don't think Mat will do it. She's going to think I'm a coward for running away from class."

"Mathilda," starts the woman, but she pauses to correct herself after hearing Marie's use of the shortened name. "Mat... is afraid of things too."

"She sure doesn't show it, mom."

"Sure she does. That tough act she puts on..."

"It's not an act," Marie asserts with absolute certainty.

"Well, it means she's afraid to be vulnerable. She's going to be very lonely when she grows up if she can't learn to trust people."

"She trusts benders," Marie suggested.

"Being a bender doesn't automatically make someone trustworthy any more than it makes someone..." Marie's mother chooses her next word very carefully, as if selecting from oft-heard comments, "unnatural. Besides, I bet that Mat acts just as tough in front of Peter as in front of anyone else."

"That's true," Marie admitted. "In fact, sometimes more so. I think it's because Pyotr idolizes her a little bit."

"Does he really?" Marie's mother ponders aloud with an enigmatic smirk. "Then make sure Peter is the one to ask Mat to attend the sessions after school."

"Um, okay?" the girl agrees.

"Good. I love you, Marie."

"I love you too, mom"

"Ok, you can go 'study for your biology test' now. Dinner will be ready at six."


	2. Chapter 2 - A closer look

Class schedules in the school didn't always run five days a week. In fact, there were two important exceptions. Health and gym ran in the same time slot, with the former on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Being a Tuesday, Mat's first period class was gym. This wasn't a bad way to start the day, in Mat's mind, except for being sweaty the rest of the day. She could have taken a shower in the locker room except that she had discovered the trade-off was reinforcing the persistent public impression that she was a butch lesbian. The other major exception to the five-days-per-week rule was lunch. Most days it served as a sort of study hall with occasional study skills training called Academic Advisement. On Wednesdays, it was club day, and Mat happened to be in drama club, which also had a way of reinforcing the persistent public impression that she was a butch lesbian. Of course, having enrolled in shop class didn't help either.

Mat didn't think it was a big deal for people to be gay, but Mat hadn't even been on a date with anyone, boy or girl, yet. She really didn't have time for romance, because she had no intention of being one of those girls who graduated with a bun in the proverbial oven and settled down into being a housewife right out of high school. What really bothered Mat about the rumors was that she knew people were using it as a sort of code-word for her being a bender. Even the ditziest cheerleader knew better than to ostracize Mat for being a bender, so they had found another way to keep Mat at arm's length. Mat could not refute the rumors without seeming like a homophobe, nor could she establish a platonic friendship with any of the girls who just assumed she was flirting with them because they actually believed the rumors. That was how she had come to be friends with Pete. As a fellow bender, he had no problem with her own bending, and guys were surprisingly more supportive of butch lesbians than they were of effeminate gay men. As long as Mat acted as if she were one of the guys, the boys in the school were generally pretty willing to treat her as one. So Mathilda had become Mat back in middle school, although that still left the taboo of her bending to overcome.

Like most of the other girls in the locker room, Mat quickly got changed into her workout clothes. Of course, there was always one or two who thought that they were too pretty for gym class. The metalbender often wondered if such girls realized that they wouldn't be pretty for very long if they didn't take care of themselves or if they just planned to be settled down before they got fat. Walking out onto the wood-slatted floor was briefly disconcerting to Mat. As a metalbender, she was, more fundamentally, an earthbender. The rest of the school consisted of hard tiles on concrete, which were all within her bailiwick. Stepping onto the wood slats produced in Mat a destabilizing sensation that was a little bit like expecting a staircase to have one more step than it actually did only to put your foot down on level floor. Occasionally, someone would take advantage of Mat's momentary weakness and "accidentally" bump into her to knock her over, but today was not one of those days.

With the upcoming regional basketball game, the phys-ed coaches had decided to squeeze in that little extra practice time by doing a unit on basketball in gym for the remainder of the month. Mat was not out of shape, but she felt terribly out of place during games like basketball where she could not fall back upon her bending in a pinch. Running a mile or ringing the bell at the top of a climbing rope, in contrast, could both benefit significantly from a bit of surreptitious bending. The coaches took attendance then directed the students to jogging laps around the gym while teams were decided. By the fourth or fifth lap, depending on the student, the coaches had decided to split the court into two smaller games, using the two sets of hoops along the shorter dimension. As names were called out, it quickly became apparent that the two courts had been essentially split into the athletes and everyone else. Anticipating this, Mathilda headed to the everyone else court.

"Kohl! Wrong court," chastised the woman coach.

Uh-oh. Mat turned around and prepared for the hurt. She knew all too well that the basketball players would have heard about her criticism from the day before, and she further knew that as "one of the guys," they would have no qualms about playing rough. What Mat wouldn't give for the bending skill to make a suit of armor out of stone like the legendary earthbenders benders of yore were said to have done.

* * *

Meanwhile, in Algebra I, Pyotr and Marie were paired together for a hands-on activity involving measuring the circumference and diameter of a variety of round objects. The teacher, Mrs. Quentin, had promised to bring pie for the whole class on March fourteenth if the class average on the upcoming circle test were eighty percent or better. Many of the students found baked goods to be quite motivating. Pyotr was measuring the objects, and Marie, with her more legible handwriting, was tracking the results on the table.

"Mr. Verelli is going to let me skip his class," Marie explained.

"That's great! What's the next thing to measure?"

Marie slid a bottle cap from a two-liter of soda to her friend. "Bottle cap. Yeah, but I have to spend the period doing independent study in the library, and then I have to get tutoring from him after school."

"Bummer," Pyotr agreed. "Diameter is...one inch, and the circumference is three and...a quarter? Yeah. A quarter."

"Three and a quarter, got it. He said you could have the same deal. Would you stay after school with me? Please?"

"Sure. Hand me the paper plate," Pyotr agreed without fully listening. "Wait, what? I dunno, Marie. I was thinking about getting an after-school job."

"You were just saying you could be more proud of being a bender," Marie argued as she passed Pyotr the paper plate. "The whole thing is going to be about famous benders. Maybe you could find a role model or something."

"Eh..." Pyotr wavered.

"Mat's is invited too," slyly continued Marie. "You did say you wish you got to see her outside of shop class."

Pyotr thought seriously about the suggestion. "That's true..." Marie let Pyotr think for a few minutes as he continued the project. "Circumference twenty-two inches. Diameter seven inches." These numbers caught the firebender off guard. "Twenty two and seven? Don't we use that on calculators for something?"

From across the room, Mrs. Quentin found a small spark of hope stirring in her heart as she overheard Pyotr's comment.

"I agree, we used it last year when doing circles too. It's pi isn't it?" Marie speculated.

"Wait a minute," Pyotr began. "Twenty-two sevenths. March fourteenth is three-fourteen if I write it. She's buying us pie and it's a unit on circles."

"Yes," agreed Marie.

Mrs. Quentin felt the pride of a successful lesson lifting her up.

"You don't think she's trying to make one big joke out of the whole thing do you? That would be so lame," observed Pyotr with the callous cruelty of adolescence.

Mrs. Quentin died a little more inside that day.

Marie was not particularly moved one way or the other on the issue but simply pressed, "Will you do it?"

"Sure, I guess. I probably won't be able to get any part time work until the summer anyway."

"Make sure you ask Mat for me, too"

"No problem."

* * *

After math class, Pyotr and Marie went their separate ways. While the newly liberated Marie went to the library, Pyotr or, rather, Pedro went to Spanish class. Even before he reached his seat, the other students were openly mocking him by insincerely greeting him using his Spanish name.

"¿Cómo estás, Pedro?" called one boy.

"¿Cómo va, Pedro?" jeered another.

"¿Qué onda, Pedro?" taunted a third.

Of course, Señora was simply thrilled that any of her students would voluntarily speak Spanish at all, let alone so enthusiastically. This blinded her to the insulting context of the chatter. As much as he tried to distance himself from his paternal ancestry, Pyotr wished he knew enough Spanish to really give the other students a piece of his mind. He knew a few choice words in Russian, but that would have really gone over their heads. Although, Pyotr was certainly getting tired of their "адстой." As the tone indicating the start of class sounded, Pyotr was already in his seat and ready to go. This was the hardest part of his day, and it was blessedly early. If he had to sit through Spanish class at the end of the day, he might have had the energy to fend off all the verbal abuse.

"A mind like water," Pyotr reminded himself - a phrase commonly expressed in the martial arts. One of the reasons that Pyotr was such a good firebender was that his mother had gotten him a year of karate during his sixth grade year. It had been a tough age to be interracial with no father in such a conservative town, and as the hormones of puberty had kicked in, so had Pyotr's temper and, accordingly, his firebending. It was no secret that firebending and a short temper went hand in hand. Rage seemed to be a sort of emotional lighter fluid for firebending, and the gangland wars of the Central American drug cartels would often end with entire neighborhoods in ashes. The school's guidance counselor had recommended it as a good way to vent his frustration after a tantrum had caused Pyotr to inadvertently scorch a desk. Consequently, Nadia had sent Pyotr to karate to learn discipline. She had only had enough money to send him for a year, but it had been enough. Not only had Pyotr learned to channel his aggression, he'd gotten his first real taste of the water-based philosophy that was so prevalent in martial arts. He'd always been exposed to the culture of Water through his mother, Nadia, but the phrase "a mind like water" had unlocked the floodgates of Pyotr's soul. His sensei had gone above and beyond the call of duty, even incorporating a few basic moves from more fire-oriented martial arts, such as pencak silat and Shaolin kung fu, into Pyotr's training. As a result, Pyotr not only had control of his temper but also of his firebending — the one thing his father ever gave him.

It got easier once the class formally started. When occupied with repeating a new phrase after the teacher or, better yet, not allowed to talk during the lecture, the other students could not give Pyotr a hard time. Towards the end of class, it came time to practice speaking the new material in pairs. His partner for this unit was a little slip of a girl who shook like a leaf any time she had to talk above a whisper. Her Spanish name was Carla, and Pyotr was fairly certain that her real name was Kimberly but had always been too embarrassed to admit he didn't know it.

"¿Qué te gusta?" Carla dutifully prompted with her usual timidity.

"Me gusta música," Pyotr responded. "¿Y usted?"

"Uhh...me gusta..." struggled Carla. Not so much because she didn't know the words, but because she, as a wallflower, was not used to expressing opinions. "Me gusta...flores! Mucho gusta."

Typical girl answer, Pyotr thought to himself before completing the script. "Si, flores estan buena." He fell silent after that.

Carla waited patiently at first, never one to make waves. However, as the pause stretched the rule-following instinct became stronger than the be-invisible instinct. "Your turn," Carla politely noted.

Pyotr grunted acknowledgement of the fact before reluctantly reciting, "¿Qué te gusta, Carla?"

During the wait, the shy girl had come up with a really good answer, blurting, "Me gusta hablar español." Carla giggled and blushed a little at the admission. "¿Y tú?"

"Seriously? Err... uhh... ¿Verdad? No se habla mucho."

Carla made a valiant effort to respond further in Spanish, but her freshman-level vocabulary failed her. "That doesn't mean I don't want to. Talking in a foreign language is sort of like talking in a secret code because most people don't know what you are saying at all."

Pyotr considered that to be a pretty good answer. "Si. Me gusta hablar español, tambien."

"Esta muy bueno," Carla concurred.

* * *

Pyotr beat Mat to the wood shop. Thus far, that had only happened when Mat was suspended. Pyotr shook his head, wondering what his friend had done this time. He grabbed a seat at his desk with a handful of other students while the majority of the students were putting the finishing touches on the birdhouse from the previous day. Mr. Edgar would give people about 10 minutes to work before rounding people up for the next lecture or demonstration. In the mean time, the young firebender took out his notebook and resumed work on his biology song. It was a fun brain teaser, but he couldn't imagine actually singing it in front of a crowd.

A few minutes after the tone had sounded, Mat limped into the wood shop clutching an icepack against her right knee. She leaned against one of the counters by the door for balance as she awkwardly fished a hall pass out of her hoodie. Mr. Edgar was busy shelving finished birdhouses, so Mat just hopped over to the classroom area and left the pass on the teacher's desk before delicately lowering herself into the seat next to Pyotr.

"What happened to you?" he asked with genuine concern.

"Charging foul," Mat understated. "Ref was blind though, didn't even give the guy two minutes out."

Pyotr whistled appreciatively. "Did you at least win?"

"Pfft," the metalbender blew derisively. "I was at the nurse's office. Besides, gym class games aren't worth any bragging rights." She took a moment to laboriously lift her leg into a chair in the next aisle without bending her knee. Of course, as soon as she became comfortable Mr. Edgar called everyone into the shop for a demonstration.

"Alright, now that you've got your birdhouses done, the next step will be to decorate them," began Mr. Edgar.

"What? So paint them?" asked a student.

"You could," admitted the shop teacher, "but then you'd have to repaint it every few years. We're going to go for a more durable solution — wood burning." The teacher pulled a wood burning kit out from a drawer. The device he pulled out sort of looked like a soldering iron, if you knew what that was, or a pointy metal stick mounted on a bicycle handlebar if you didn't. After a few moment explaining the various parts and appropriate safety guidelines, he plugged the tool in. As it warmed, Mr. Edgar clarified, "Though we call it wood burning, there is no flame involved. It just gets really hot and browns the wood like bread in a toaster. If you leave the tool on the wood, it can start a fire, and that's a real safety problem in wood shop. I should not be seeing any fire today, am I clear?" The instructor was not subtle as he looked directly at Pyotr.

"Yes, Mr. Edgar," Pyotr agreed.

Satisfied, the teacher turned to the rest of the class. "Am I clear?"

They all echoed, "Yes, Mr. Edgar."

* * *

For her elective, Marie was enrolled in choir. She produced nothing of her own, as she would in an art class; she much preferred to blend into the group. Additionally, she would not have to lug around an instrument as she would have if she were in the school band. In many ways, choir rewarded mediocrity. Unless she was singing a solo, which she never volunteered to do, it would have been bad form to sing better or louder than her peers. It was perfect for Marie.

The teacher, Ms. Nell had other ideas, though. To begin with, "Nell" was her first name rather than her last. Ms. Nell, being a first-year teacher, was of the trendy mindset that last names artificially separated a teacher from her students. So, rather than being Ms. Foster, she was Ms. Nell. This distinction proved to be representative of most of her wild-eyed idealism about being a teacher. Normally, students would have metaphorically eaten such a rookie alive. However, Ms. Nell had a secret weapon; she was an airbender. Ms. Nell's grandmother had emigrated from China, bringing with her the airbending bloodline. Two generations removed, only the poker-straight black hair remained obvious in Ms. Nell's appearance, but the airbending had run true. At least, that's what everyone gossiped.

In many ways, airbenders had it easy in comparison to the other benders. While firebending was literally flashy, a subtle airbender could often practice their skill without anyone the wiser. Nothing short of a full-on gale could be unequivocally proven to come from an airbender. So, they blended in with non-benders, most of the time. With Ms. Nell, there were always little things that led to the rumors of her being an airbender. For example, she could always be heard, no matter how much chatter was going on in the room. A few of the more bender-fearing students claimed that they could feel Ms. Nell stealing the words right out of their mouths sometimes. As another piece of "evidence" to fuel the paranoia, Ms. Nell talked with her hands. Never did a sentence pass her lips when she wasn't emphatically gesticulating. Of course, plenty of teachers did that, but students took notice with Ms. Nell. This, the conspiracy-theorists speculated, was how she hid her airbending in plain sight.

Returning to the topic of Marie's mediocrity, Ms. Nell was fervently convinced that everyone could (and should) sing. Ms. Nell spoke of syncopation and key like a painter would about brushes and paint. If she caught a student merely mouthing words, or otherwise trying to go unheard, Ms. Nell would make that student sing their part solo until Ms. Nell was convinced that they had a handle on the melody; and, airbender that she allegedly was, Ms. Nell always seemed to know. Consequently, unlike her middle school experience, Marie had to sing like she meant it, and she had a good voice. She would never be an opera singer, but Marie had an ear for pitch and a pleasant alto voice. To Marie's horror, Ms. Nell had taken notice of this in the weeks leading up to the winter concert.

Ms. Nell clapped twice, indicating that she was ready to speak. Everyone got quiet, knowing that it was futile to do otherwise in her presence. "Alright, everyone, before we start warm-ups," Ms. Nell began, "I want to let you know that I've picked the line-up for our spring concert. Before you ask: no we aren't going to do that new Disney song you all like so much." A chorus of disappointed voices filled the room. "However, your...persistent suggestions about weather-related music gave me a great idea. This year, the men's solo will be James Taylor's Fire and Rain and the women's solo will be Adele's Set Fire to the Rain." After letting the students mumble to each other for a few moments, Ms. Nell clarified. "Normally, the women's solo is a soprano piece, but I thought I'd give the altos a chance this year. We've got about six weeks until the concert. Over the next two weeks, we'll be learning the songs, and I will be picking out the soloists. So try your hardest, because I'll be listening. After that, we'll only have a month to polish everything to perfection." Excited chatter filled the air as Ms. Nell moved to her piano. Once she took a seat at the bench, she played a C chord, starting warm-ups in the usual fashion.

* * *

At lunch, Pyotr went directly to the cafeteria line while Mat, still limping a bit and with a fresh ice pack, slowly worked her way to Marie's table.

"Oh no," cried Marie, "not another fight?"

"No, I'd be suspended if I'd done that. Just fell in gym class," Mat explained with her usual understatement. She grunted with relief as she sat then elevated her leg. "It doesn't look like it is even going to bruise that much, but it's a real pain to walk from class to class."

"Did Pyotr talk to you about Mr. Verelli?" queried Marie.

"No? Was he supposed to?"

Not prepared for this contingency, Marie stammered, "Er... well, um... after school..."

"What about after school?"

"Well, Mr. Verelli is letting me...us...if you want...to get out of social studies class."

Skeptical, Mat probed, "What's the catch?"

"Instead of going to class, you go to the library and do research, but you stay after school to report your progress and get advice," Marie explained.

"Stay after school? Heck no. I've had too many detentions to volunteer for that sort of deal."

Pyotr arrived carrying two lunches. He set one tray down for himself and another in front of Mat. There was a small salad, a grilled chicken sandwich and some fries. "Sorry about the wait. It took me a little bit to convince them that I wasn't just trying to take two lunches for myself."

"Thanks, Pete. How'd you convince them?"

Pyotr knocked on his tray, generating the hollow thud of metal. "Aluminum trays. I told them if they didn't let me carry your tray that'd you just use your bending to bring it over here."

Mat laughed at that and tucked in to her meal.

"Pyotr," Marie began with a pleading tone, "You are going to take up Mr. Verelli's offer aren't you?"

The firebender, who had sat down by this point, smacked himself in the temple. "Oh! Mat, I totally forgot to tell you about..."

"No need, Pete. It sounds like more work than just going to class." Turning to Marie, Mat asked, "Why would you even make a trade like that?"

Marie started to answer, but Pyotr jumped in. "Because the kids in her class are pretty bigoted about benders and they are doing a unit on it."

This ruffled Mat's proverbial feathers. "Then the teacher should call them on it or give them detention or something."

Pyotr shook his head. "Mr. Verelli's doing the best he can just by offering the unit in the first place. A lot of parents were mad about it when the district started teaching about bending history. Anyway, Marie gets a lot of flak for being my friend," Pyotr lied with the ease and conviction of practice. "your friend too, now."

"Really? I didn't realize that the hate went that far here," mused Mat. "Thanks, Marie. You're alright."

"Besides," Pyotr coaxed, "You'll learn way more about benders by doing this than by staying in class. Mr. Verelli has to keep all the really interesting facts to himself, otherwise the parents would have him fired."

"I would like to learn more about benders," the metalbender admitted.

Marie, in silent awe watched Pyotr work — afraid she would spoil the whole thing if she said even a single word.

"Next time someone is talking smack about benders," continued Pyotr, "you'll be able to give them the real facts and show them how ignorant their bigotry is."

"Alright, I'm convinced, Pete. When do we start?"

"Today," Pyotr explained. "Just tell Mr. Verelli you want in and he'll write you a pass."

Mat wolfed down her lunch, then headed out before the bell rang. She had gotten a pass from the nurse that let her get a head start on the mad rush through the halls when she had gone back for a second ice pack. Once she was gone, Pyotr started clearing up the table, as usual.

"Why'd you lie to Mat like that?" Marie asked.

"Even if she knew you well enough to hear the truth, the cafeteria isn't a good place to explain it."

"That's true," Marie admitted, though unsure of how she felt about the lie.

"You only ever talk to her at lunch. She'll get to know you better at these after school sessions. You can tell her after the project is over. Besides, it's not totally a lie. You do get flak for hanging out with me."

"You're right, as usual. Thanks, rock star."

The tone sounded and lunch was over.

* * *

Later that afternoon, after the last period of the day, Marie, Pyotr and Mat met in Mr. Verelli's room. The social studies teacher had pulled four chairs out in the front of the room and placed them in a small circle. Pyotr had arrived first, and was already taking quietly to Mr. Verelli when the girls arrived. The teacher repressed a mild look of surprise when Mat walked in. Fortunately, the limping girl's focus was more on sitting down than on her teacher's face. Marie helped Mat into a chair, and the men joined them.

"Alright, so I need to lay some ground rules," explained the social studies teacher. "While I appreciate your solidarity with the..."

Pyotr shot the teacher a dirty look.

"...with the benders who have long suffered discrimination and paranoia at the hands of others," Mr. Verelli hastily amended. "This isn't a free ride. I expect that the three of you will learn as much, if not more, in this 'independent study' than you would in the normal class."

All three students nodded their agreement, though Mat only did so after a nudge from Pyotr.

"Good," the man continued. "The next important thing is that I don't want this to turn into segregation. We're not turning this into the class for benders..." Mr. Verelli glanced at Marie then at Pyotr then back to Marie. "Or their allies."

"What's segregation?" wondered Mat.

"Excellent question," the teacher praised. "Mathilda..."

"Mat," she self-identified.

"Alright. Mat, I want you to research the civil rights movement. You can start with the segregated schools for benders. Tomorrow you should be able to define the word for me, if nothing else."

"What about us?" Marie asked.

The teacher thought carefully for a few moments. "Pyotr can research the genealogy of bending."

"What's that?" the boy queried.

"Excellent question," Mat mimicked in her best Mr. Verelli impression.

The social studies teacher chuckled a bit at that. "You learn fast." After silently conferring with Pyotr in a surreptitious glance, Mr. Verelli assigned, "Marie, you'll be researching the Avatar."

"But!" Marie protested.

Mat was clearly confused by Marie's objection to such an easy assignment, but Pyotr assured Marie, "I think it's a good idea."

Outnumbered, Marie relented, "Alright," with a sigh.

"Then I'll see you all tomorrow," said the teacher, dismissing the students.


	3. Chapter 3 - A little history

The next morning, Marie woke to the smell of pancakes cooking, and Marie idly mused that her mother must have the day off. Her father commuted into Wheeling for work and would already be gone by this time. Her mother, on the other hand, worked part time at a nearby department store about four days a week. The family could have gotten by on just her father's salary, but her mother's supplementary income meant that could afford something nice every now and then. Once upon a time, "something nice" used to mean a summer vacation, but that tradition had ended after Marie's accident. These days, it usually meant going out to the movies, a new toy for Marie's little sister Giselle, or a new outfit for Marie — ordinary things.

Marie went through her morning routine: get dressed, brush hair, brush teeth, report to mother for pills. In the dining room, Marie's mother was just helping Giselle by cutting the little girls pancakes into bite-sized pieces. As soon as the knife was set aside, Giselle dove into her food like she hadn't eaten in weeks. At the picky-eater stage, Giselle had gone to bed hungry the night before rather than eat the deadly poison known as broccoli. "Fank oo," Giselle burbled through syrup-smeared lips. Giselle was a beautiful child who, everyone agreed, would one day break a great many hearts. Her hair fell in perfect curls. Her eyes were the perfect shade of blue. Everything about Giselle's appearance was perfect, except for a slow-to-fade pink scar next to her left eye.

Marie stared at the scar for a moment before heading into the kitchen, and her mother was waiting with a glass of orange juice and three pills. Though she had once detested taking the pills, Marie had grown accustomed to them. Like Giselle and broccoli, it had taken a while for Marie to accept that the things which are good for a person are not always pleasurable. Scowling at the noxious flavor of orange juice after toothpaste, Marie downed her medication.

"You've got your psychiatrist's appointment after school today," Marie's mother reminded.

"What about my tutoring from Mr. Verelli?"

"I'll write you a note; you can't miss your monthly visit."

"Alright."

"Good," her mother praised. "Go eat your breakfast before your sister eats all the syrup."

Marie nodded in acknowledgement of the reality of that threat. When it came to sweets, Giselle was insatiable. Marie went back into the dining room and began eating. While the pills had gotten easier to swallow, the monthly visits with Dr. Spicer had never become less onerous. He was a specialist. Marie's family had moved to West Virginia from New York City just to be closer to him. Well, if Marie were being honest, they would have had to move no matter what. Dr. Spicer was just the excuse that Marie's parents gave to people. Lost to thought, Marie only got half way through her pancakes before her mother came in with packed lunches for the girls.

"The bus is at the end of the block, get your coats!"

* * *

Faster than she might have imagined, second period was upon Marie – time to report to the library for her first day of researching the Avatar. The library was fairly quiet. If a class was down here researching, it got to be pretty crazy, but it was just Marie and a couple of helpers, at that moment. Looking things up had come a long way in the last few years, and Marie still remembered being confused about the removal of the card catalog from her elementary school. Marie had never used it, but the librarian there had acted as if a favored pet had died. Everything had been done on a computer as long as Marie could remember. Since coming to the high school, she could even read some whole books on the computer, not that she did. Still, it was nice that she would not have to actually admit to anyone the nature of her research.

Marie went to one of the computer stations in a corner, where nobody could look over her shoulder. She considered turning the monitor even further into the corner, but she realized that such an action would only arouse the suspicions of the librarian. Not entirely sure where to start, the girl simply opened a web browser and typed the word "avatar" into the default search engine. This, of course, produced far too many results, many of which were about the James Cameron movie or about the little pictures that represent people in video games. However, the Wikipedia page seemed like a safe bet. The first thing that Marie noticed was a large banner at the top of the article declaring that the page had been locked due to its controversial nature and the large number of vandalizations that had occurred. Marie blew a long, slow breath across her tightly drawn lips. She could already feel her blood pressure beginning to rise, and she had barely even started. It didn't take long for Marie to realize that it would have been ten times as bad to be seeing the same thing with the rest of her classmates.

The girl forced herself to continue reading. Most of the article included common knowledge. However, there were a few key points that drew her attention. The first was that, so far as anyone knew, no Avatar had been born in the United States, and only one in the Western hemisphere at all. The article elaborated that the general consensus was that this was likely due to the fact that history had not been recorded very carefully in the New World until comparatively recently. The second thing that Marie learned was that, since the Victorian era, there had been renewed interest in the Avatar and bending in general. Specifically, there were quite a few groups that claimed to be the inheritors of secret knowledge regarding the Avatar, and that they practically worshipped the Avatar whenever they could find one.

Marie hastily scrolled passed a section of the article on the Avatar State and came to a section that was totally new information to her. Once upon a time, the Avatar had been responsible for acting as a bridge between humans and spirits. This much Marie knew, but she had always thought that one of the more fanciful elements of the Avatar mythology. However, it seemed that many archeologists took spirits very seriously, and even speculated that the Spirit World might be a real place that people could go to. Notably, there was an unclaimed million dollar bounty for anyone who could definitively prove the existence of spirits or the Spirit World.

The article went on to explain that the last recorded Avatar had been a Japanese man during the Second World War. Having refused to fight for Emperor Hirohito, this Avatar had been imprisoned for several years. After the war, the Avatar had travelled all over his homeland, helping people rebuild. His last act had been to walk into the ruins of Hiroshima, allegedly to put the tormented spirits there to rest. Those who witnessed the act from a safe distance, including several reporters, claimed that the Avatar never entered the city. The new articles from that day contended that upon crossing the city's boundaries, the Avatar had simply disappeared. Two weeks later, the Avatar had shown up miles away at a small hospital. He died not of radiation poisoning but of wounds that doctors had interpreted to have been caused by mauling by a large animal of some sort.

"Spooky," Marie mumbled. Almost immediately, she realized that someone might have heard her. She clapped a hand over her mouth and looked around frantically. However no one had paid any attention to her utterance. Relaxing, she looked at the clock. She'd only spent fifteen minutes thus far. Would that be enough work for Mr. Verelli? Marie knew it would not, but she really did not want to keep reading about the Avatar. Instead, she spent the rest of the period researching the Spirit World.

* * *

History was Pyotr's last class before lunch. As such, his mind was often more on food than learning by that point in the day. Having to self-manage his own learning only made the situation worse. Pepperoni pizza was on the menu that day, and the firebender frequently found himself fantasizing about the delicious cured meat that he would soon be consuming. However, the boy did make some progress despite the distraction.

Pyotr's first goal had been to find a definition for the word "genealogy." Well, it was his second goal, if you counted figuring out how to spell the word. His first impression, upon hearing the word was that it would involve rubbing a magic lamp, but Google casually informed him that there was no such thing as "genie-ology" as soon as he had typed it into the search bar.

"Hoo boy… this is going to be harder than I thought," he admitted to himself. He rubbed a hand against his forehead preemptively against the headache that was sure to come. His calloused fingers made a pleasant scratching noise against the stubble on the sides of his head. He would need to shave it again soon in order to maintain his Water Tribe mohawk.

After subsequent searches for the definitions of the words "descent" and "ancestor," Pyotr had cobbled together the understanding that genealogy was the study of family trees. At first, Pyotr was offended. He jumped to the assumption that Mr. Verelli was basically a racist for wanting Pyotr to admit that firebenders were Mexicans. After a moment, though, Pyotr thought about the assignment Mr. Verelli had given to Marie. The teacher, after some negotiation with Pyotr, had picked a topic that would initially be difficult for Marie but would have been good for her. The boy decided to give his teacher the benefit of the doubt.

At first, Pyotr could only find complicated academic articles on the genealogy of benders and a lot of inheritance diagrams highlighting benders within family trees. Ever one to know his own limits, Pyotr raised his hand to summon the librarian, Miss (not Ms!) Huron. Word on the street about Miss Huron was that she had recently turned thirty and was becoming nervous about having not gotten married despite her age. As a result, she dressed like a college student and insisted that students call her "Miss" rather than the more common "Ms."

"Do you need some help?" she asked, once she saw his help.

"Yeah. I'm having trouble doing some research on the internet."

The librarian tiptoed from the checkout desk over to Pyotr's station. After a quick glance at the arcane diagrams on the boy's screen, Miss Huron inquired, "What are you trying to find?"

Pyotr explained, "I'm supposed to research 'the genealogy of benders,' but all that gets me is this weird science stuff. None of it is in plain English."

For a moment, it looked as if Miss Huron was going to chastise Pyotr, but then her face soften as she recognized him. "You're Pyotr, right?"

"Yeah, that's right. Why does it matter?"

"Well, I was going to say that you probably shouldn't be researching bending at school, but I don't think your parents would mind."

That sentence had so many things wrong with it that Pyotr didn't even know where to start. He realized that Mat would have made a huge scene over the callous bigotry in that sentence, but Pyotr also knew that Miss Huron was not intentionally being unkind, unlike Mr. Edgar. Miss Huron was certainly right that some parents would have raised a riot if they knew their children were reading about Benders. Even under Mr. Verelli's benevolent observation, there was a great deal of censorship on the subject within the school's walls.

"So, are you going to help me?"

Miss Huron look startled for a moment. "Oh, I'm sorry. Of course I will help you. If you want plain English answers, try a plain English question. For example, try asking 'where are there lots of benders'"

"What does geography have to do with family trees?" Pyotr pondered.

"Well, the family tree you'd probably be drawing for an assignment is only a very small part of a much bigger family tree for all humanity. A lot of people don't like to admit it, but everyone is related if you go back far enough." The librarian looked around conspiratorially, to make sure no other students were listening to this contraband information. She lowered her voice a bit. "You get differences between people because mountains, rivers and…"

"...all sorts of geography stuff gets in the way?" Pyotr speculated.

"That's right. So geography and genealogy are closely related, if you look at a family tree that's big enough."

"That's actually really helpful," Pyotr admitted, to his own surprise. "Thanks."

Before walking away, Miss Huron smiled and told Pyotr to let her know if he needed any other help. Pyotr returned to his research, following the librarian's advice. He was quickly rewarded with a world map that was color-coded based on the most common type of bender in the region. To his surprise, Mexico was not the only red area. Certainly, all of Central and parts of South America were home to firebenders. However, most of Africa and India were also apparently firebending hotspots.

"Ha. Hotspots." Pyotr chuckled at his own joke. He'd have to save that one for later.

* * *

Wednesdays provided a nice change of pace to the daily grind within the high school. Instead of the study hall period called Academic Advisement that students usually had to endure, students got to attend the club of their choice. Marie had wanted to join a club that would let her fade into the woodwork as much as possible. Something too nerdy, like chess club, would have made her a target for bullying. Something performance based, like photography, would have made her stand out in a different way. Book club was the perfect balance. Sure, she had to express an opinion on whatever the book of the week was, but she could usually get away with just saying that she liked it, and nobody would question her.

Unfortunately, she didn't really like the current book. It was one of those supernatural romance novels that had become so popular lately, especially the ones with movie tie-ins. In this particular series, the protagonist was in love with bloodbender. To be honest, Marie was surprised that the club's advisor had allowed the book, but it seemed as if the teacher was totally unaware of the content. That may have been due to the large number of euphemisms that thinly veiled the romantic interest's true nature from anyone who failed to read between the lines. The girls in the book club, and nearly all the members of the club were girls, giggled mischievously at the perceived naughtiness with which they were getting away.

"I wish he'd come and 'choreograph' a dance with me at the prom," suggested one girl, lustily. A chorus of appreciative mmhmm's echoed that sentiment.

After about ten minutes of such commentary, Marie, like the two boys in the club were getting pretty tired of the conversation. At her limit, Marie inadvertently blurted, "None of you would actually date him if he went here."

A handful of girls simultaneously responded, "Yes, I would!"

One of the boys agreed. "Your parents would totally freak out if they knew. You'd never do it."

A senior girl argued, "That's what makes him so attractive."

It was too late to stop this runaway train now, so Marie decided that she might as well take ownership of her blunder. "Would you date Pyotr?"

"The firebender?" one girl asked.

"Aren't you dating him?" clarified another.

"No, he's dating that tomboy metalbender Mat" suggested a third.

"I thought she was into girls?" rebutted the second girl.

The gossip quickly spiraled out of control to the point where the teacher had to intervene, chastising, "We're here to talk about that book not about benders." The club all put on their best fake guilty faces. As soon as the teacher returned to her desk, the girls began snickering at having, once again, gotten away with discussing a taboo topic in the form of the book.

* * *

Once the club period ended, Mat headed from the auditorium where drama club met to the library. This activity would be a walk in the park. Mat didn't really care to show it very often, but she was a pretty smart cookie. Mat had it all figured out; she would become a machinist and get to do all the metal bending that she wanted to do all day long. Maybe, once she had saved enough, Mat would go to college and become a mechanical engineer. Then she could go to work for BMW or one of the other precision engineering companies that would pay top dollar for a skilled metalbender. She'd make more money than any ten of the bigots from this high school. That'd show them.

Earlier in the year, the freshman English classes had come down to the library to do their first essay of the year. They'd had to do a five paragraph summary of an article that they got off a special database on the library computers. Mat figured that Mr. Verelli was looking for something like that. Consequently, when she arrived at the library, she went directly to Miss Huron to be logged into the database. The librarian was pleasantly surprised that anyone would use it for extracurricular work, let alone someone with such a rough-and-tumble reputation as Mat.

"You must be working on the same project as Pyotr was," Miss Huron speculated.

"What makes you say that?" Mat queried through suddenly, suspiciously narrowed eyes.

"He's a bender researching bending on his own time. You're a bender doing research on your own time on the same day."

"I didn't say that I was researching bending," Mat rebutted with dangerous coolness.

"You don't have to be embarrassed about it," the librarian attempted to comfort.

"I'm not embarrassed, but you should mind your own business. Don't lump all us benders together like that."

This ruffled Miss Huron's proverbial feathers. "What happens in this library is my business. If you want me to log you into the journal database, you need to be respectful."

"Pot meet kettle. Whatever, I don't need help from you. I'll figure something out." Mat curtly turned away from the librarian's desk and went over to a computer. The girl stared blankly at the screen for several moments, willing herself to bottle up the anger. She slowed her breathing and tried to cool the flush that had come to her face. It was bad enough when students were bigoted, but now an adult had been just as bad. With Mr. Edgar, she could mostly let it roll off of her back because he couldn't really do anything. However, Miss Huron had totally ruined all of Mat's plans. Mathilda briefly considered the possibility that it was Mat's quickness to jump that had really brought down disaster, but Mat rejected the thought as weak. It didn't take long for Mat to reassert the stony, implacable façade of an earthbender.

This, of course, still left Mat with the problem of her research. The stymied metalbender briefly considered plagiarizing a report from the internet, but she knew that Mr. Verelli was far too canny to fall for such tactics. Still hoping for a shortcut, Mat searched YouTube for videos about segregation. She was quickly rewarded with an educational documentary that looked promising. She inserted some headphones into the computer and spent the rest of the period watching it. To Mat's surprise, bending was barely mentioned at all. Instead, it talked mostly about the racial segregation of schools in the Forties and Fifties. With respect to bending, the documentary did mention that benders, statistically more likely to be minorities, were often concentrated in such schools. Ironically, it was the alleged danger of high concentrations of benders that galvanized the minds of the general public, empowering the civil rights movement leading up to the landmark _Brown v. Board of Education_ that ended segregation of schools. While the most egalitarian ideals had begun the quest to end segregated schools, Mat realized that it was the race-transcendent fear of benders that had proved to be the great equalizer. Even the part of Mat that was still Mathilda lamented this revelation.

* * *

At the end of the day, Marie was just leaving Mr. Verelli's classroom as Pyotr and Mat arrived. She flashed them an apologetic smile, simply saying "I'll see you tomorrow."

Mat was clearly displeased. "Of all the nerve…we're here for her sake."

"Cut her some slack, Mat," Pyotr placated. "She's got to go the doctor."

"Oh."

"Besides, you're not here for her," the boy reminded, "You're here so that you can put bigots in their place."

As they entered Mr. Verelli's room, Mat snorted derisively. "Turns out everybody is a bigot."

This caught Mr. Verelli's attention. "Would you care to clarify that sweeping generalization, Miss Kohl?"

The metalbender plopped down into one of the waiting chairs. "Yeah, I'll clarify." She leaned back and put her feet up on a nearby desk, silently daring the teacher to object. "I looked up segregation, just like you said. You said you didn't want your classroom to be just for benders. Except segregated schools were about race not bending."

"Well," the teacher admitted, "certainly that was the original issue."

"Except it wasn't at all!" Mat growled. She turned to her friend. "Do you know how they ended racial segregation in schools, Pete?" Before the confused boy could answer, Mat continued, "Well, I'll tell you. The African Americans basically went crying to the Supreme Court about how unfair it was that the minority schools had too many benders, which made them dangerous."

The room remained deathly still for several moments as everyone digested Mat's statement. The boy wrestled with it, and the man had to bite his tongue in order to let his students come to their own understanding. Finally, Pyotr broke the silence.

"Is that true, Mr. Verelli?"

The teacher nodded sadly. "It's a piece of the truth, though not all of it."

"So what is all of it?" challenged the girl.

"That's what you need to figure out, Miss Kohl."

The girl snorted. "You're just as bad as the rest of the teachers here."

Mr. Verelli looked a little disappointed, but said nothing else. In contrast, Pyotr was prickled by Mat's accusation.

"No he's not."

"Why isn't he?"

"Because he knew that not all firebenders are Mexican. I didn't even know that."

"What's that got to do with anything?" Mat asked, somewhat disarmed.

"Because Mr. Verelli picked a topic that I actually need to learn about," Pyotr argued. This caused the teacher to smile proudly. Pyotr suggested, "I bet he did for you too."

Mat thought about that for a little bit. "So why does Marie need to learn about the Avatar?"

Pyotr and Mr. Verelli exchanged significant glances.

"You should probably ask Marie that," recommended Pyotr.

* * *

Marie sat alone in one of Dr. Spicer's examination rooms. Originally, one of her parents would join her; but, after six months, Dr. Spicer had advised that Marie might not be as forthcoming about problems in the presence of her parents. So, Marie sat alone. She idly rubbed at the sore spot on her elbow where the nurse had drawn the monthly blood test. After the shorter-than-it-seemed eternity of waiting, there was a knock at the door.

"Good afternoon, Marie," Dr. Spicer greeted.

"Hi," she responded mechanically.

"Any changes?" he queried as he flipped through her charts.

"Every couple of days I itch like crazy for no good reason."

"Mmm," the doctor acknowledged. "That's not an uncommon side effect, especially given as long as you've been taking that. Try getting some lotion with oatmeal in it. That's supposed to help a lot."

"Ok."

"Anything else?"

"No, but I really hate my night time medicine. I don't sleep so much as pass out. I can't remember the last time I had a dream."

"That's the point. The part of the brain that dreams is what caused your hallucinations. You were dreaming while you were awake, in a sense." Dr. Spicer thought for a few moments before adding, "It's a good thing you aren't having any dreams. You are already at a dangerously high dose. If you built a tolerance, we might have to try something more drastic. At this point, the only alternatives are experimental medicines, which might not work, or surgery."

Marie had heard about that kind of surgery. She swallowed reflexively at the doctor's threat.

"Well," the doctor said, looking up from the charts. "It's been almost a year since you've had an episode of any sort. I think we've finally hit on the right combination of anti-psychotics, anti-epileptics and tranquilizers for you."

Marie didn't respond, she just looked at her feet.

"If you make it another month, the court is likely to allow you to stop taking the bending suppressants. No more itching!"

Marie looked up, a mixture of relief and horror on her face. She wasn't sure how she felt about that possibility.


End file.
